Crashing Down (3 page)

It's over.

She talks to herself on the bus on the way to school. Sure, things are bad, but she can get through this. She knows she can. She knows what she wants.

When the bus pulls in to the school bay, she is still scared of what lies ahead. Can she really do it — face him and confirm what she couldn't tell him last night?
I don't love you. It's over.
But if she doesn't, what will happen? He is happy with this, plodding along together — no real direction or goal — rolling with it, probably forever. Forever. That's not the vision she has for her future. She has to do it — say those words to him. It's going to be hard to see the pain in his eyes, to listen to him plead his case — because she knows he will. But she has to be strong. She needs to think about the future, what she really wants out of life. Not his vision but hers. Any deviation from that would be a mistake.

Lucy makes her way through the other students heading for homeroom. It's hard to believe school is nearly finished. They have been such a solid group, the last two years bringing them together so tightly. Sharing exam pressure and socialising to let off steam has seen most of the bitchiness and cliques disappear. She loves school — the routine and the safety — but she's looking forward to a new life, too: university.

She needs to find Carl before homeroom. It seems like bad timing, but she tries to reason with the panic in her gut: it is better now than later. She heads for the Year 12 common room, an area with a small servery with an urn, coffee, milk — one of the
privileges of sticking out high school. She knows she'll find him there. She enters the room but it's almost empty. She checks her watch. Last night's dance is no excuse; final assessments are due and everyone needs to be here today.

Big Al is heading her way. He doesn't smile when he sees her, but grimaces. Her stomach flips. He must know about last night. Carl must have told him.

‘Lucy …' He grabs her arm as if to restrain her.

‘Get off,' she says, shaking his hand away. Al may be one of Carl's close mates, and angry with her, but she won't be manhandled by anyone.

‘Sorry.' He drops his hand; automatically, his cheeks burn red.

She notices his reaction with surprise.

‘Wait a sec.' He lifts his hand again, but then doesn't know what to do with it and leaves it hanging loosely in front of them.

‘What?' she asks, suddenly scared. Something is terribly wrong.

‘Last night, JD and Carl …' He pauses and looks out the window.

She follows his gaze and there they are, all the Year 12s, gathered in small groups in the courtyard.
Watching their subdued movements, she knows their voices are low.

‘What, Al?' She tries not to shout.

‘An accident,' Al says softly. ‘Carl smashed his car.'

She knows he's not lying by the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice, but despite herself she says, ‘Very funny, Al.'

‘It's no joke.' His hand reaches out again and stops mid-air. ‘I went round to pick up JD for school this morning. His dad had just got back from the hospital. He's in intensive care. Broken neck.'

Broken neck. She's not sure what to do with this information. ‘Carl?' she asks.

Al won't meet her eyes.

Her stomach gurgles. She presses against it to silence it.

‘Coma,' Al says, really softly. ‘He hasn't woken up since the crash.'

‘Right.' She speaks so calmly it surprises her. ‘Thanks.' And then, ignoring his bewildered look, she walks off to homeroom.

Around her the lower years are rushing through the halls. It must be after the second bell. She
realises she can't hear properly. She feels like she's in a bubble and as she walks on, clutching her schoolbag over her shoulder, the bubble seems to shrink around her. Her ears feel blocked. She tries yawning to pop them, but it doesn't work. A boy from debating calls out to her.

‘Hey, Lucy.' He waves.

‘Hi …' — and suddenly she has no idea what his name is, which is odd, as she's been third speaker to his first for three years now — ‘… there.' She finishes lamely, her voice sounding muted in her head.

He frowns and moves on.

She passes JD's homeroom. Normally he'd be at the back with Ben and Al. She sees most of the 12s are gathered around the teacher's desk. Sarah is crying, which makes Lucy feel angry — Sarah doesn't even know them. She feels a moment of confusion, not sure where to go. Homeroom was her destination, but she doesn't want to talk to anyone — certainly can't handle the details right now. Instead she slips up the walkway past administration and out into the car park.

His yellow Ford is noticeably absent. Her stomach groans again — she feels violently ill. She
pulls out her mobile. The lack of messages from him last night had fuelled her anger even more, but now she knows why: he was trapped in a wreck, or in the back of an ambulance on the way to hospital.

It was her fault. The realisation causes her to gag. If she hadn't argued with him, he wouldn't have left the ball.

She hits her mum's number and it answers almost immediately.

‘Just texting you,' her mum says. ‘You alright?'

Her mum already knows. Lucy feels herself shaking her head. ‘Yeah, but I want to come home.'

She's sitting under a tree, knees pulled up to her chest, waiting for her mum. All she can imagine is Carl and JD in the car. She cringes and tries to make the images disappear, but they won't. She imagines Carl and JD in hospital beds. A broken neck — that doesn't necessarily mean paralysis; she's sure she's heard of stories where people have broken their necks and totally recovered. And what's a coma anyway — isn't it just sleeping? Don't people usually wake after a little while? She remembers a TV show about a girl who was in a coma for twenty years and when she woke she still thought she was sixteen. But surely that's not normal?

‘I can't think about this right now.' She realises
she's spoken aloud and looks around, embarrassed, but there is no one there.

She sees her mum's car coming up the road, jumps to her feet and brushes off her bum.

‘Hi,' she says too-cheerily as she slips into the front seat. She pulls her belt on. ‘Thanks.'

‘Are you alright?' her mum asks, hand poised over the gear shift.

‘Yeah.' Lucy shrugs. ‘I just couldn't stay at school. How come you're not at the shop?'

‘I called Suzie to cover for me. Aside from the morning delivery coming in, I've got all the table settings and bouquets ready to go for the Greenwood wedding. So not much else to do, really.'

Lucy knows this is a stretch of the truth. Her mum works long hours at her florist shop, which is why she is always in huge demand for big weddings and social events, sometimes booked over a year in advance.

‘Carl's dad phoned me just before.' Her mum is watching for her reaction.

‘Why?'

‘He just got back from the hospital. No change — Carl is still in a coma.' Her mum looks so sad; Lucy
knows how much she likes him. ‘He wondered if anything happened last night, at the school dance.'

Lucy nods. ‘Yeah. I kinda broke up with him.'

Her mum hasn't pried on the drive home, allowing Lucy to struggle privately with her feelings. Carl and JD. At home they sit in the kitchen.

‘What else did he say?' Lucy asks. Her mum knows she means Carl's dad.

‘Just that Carl physically looks good. No broken bones. Poor JD.' She shakes her head sadly. ‘And he wondered if something had made Carl go off, drive like that.'

‘Like what?'

‘A hoon.' Her mum pushes a cup of tea towards her. ‘The police have estimated his speed at 160 kilometres an hour going into a T-junction.'

Lucy sits still. That is so fast — what was he thinking?
That you couldn't say
‘
I love you',
the nasty voice in her head says.
This is your fault.
She shakes her head.

‘What happened?' her mum asks eventually.

She shrugs. ‘I don't know. I was a bit over it all, it was feeling too emotional and confusing. I didn't
know what I wanted anymore.'

‘He wants you to call him,' her mum says. ‘Anytime.'

‘Okay.' Lucy nods, but she can't face it — Carl's dad, his questions, his mantra:
My Carl has always been a good son and he will be a great man.
She knows he will be heartbroken. He'll want to know everything — every tiny detail — and she'll have to explain it a hundred times. She just can't do it now.

She goes to her study and looks at the mock exam timetable. Four days to go and then school is officially over, except for the mocks and then the finals. Everything is changing so quickly. She puts her head on the desk. There is no way she can concentrate. No way. All she sees is Carl and JD in hospital. The enormity of their injuries hits her — a broken neck, a coma. What if JD's a quadriplegic for the rest of his life? How will Carl handle that? What if Carl never wakes up? How will she handle that? What has she done?

The ringing phone jolts her awake, and she sits up. The light outside has changed. She looks at the time on her computer: 12.30. She's been asleep for nearly three hours. She rubs her neck as her mum walks in with the phone.

‘Mr Kapuletti,' she says, handing it to her.

‘Hi.' Lucy's mouth is dry.

‘Lucy, what happened?' As usual, Mr Kapuletti is straight to the point.

‘I'm not sure — I wasn't there; I was at the dance.' She adds, evasively, ‘Carl left.'

‘I know. But before. You were with Carl, yes? Why did he leave?'

‘He was …' — she searches for the right words —
‘a bit unhappy with me. We kinda had an argument.'

There is silence for the longest time. Lucy considers the phone may have gone dead. She pulls it away from her head and looks at it.

‘Oh, mio dio,' Mr K cries into the phone as she puts it back against her ear. His words make her jump. Despite being a second-generation Australian, Mr K often falls into his wife's way of speaking when he's upset. ‘I knew Carl wasn't so reckless as that. He was upset?'

‘Yes,' Lucy says. ‘I sort of broke up with him.'

Mr K is quiet. ‘Why, Lucy? You love him, no?'

‘No, I mean yes, I do, but …' She shakes her head, flustered by her justifications, confused that she feels the need. This morning she had realised she didn't love Carl, was prepared to say it. Now it feels like a dirty secret that needs to remain hidden. ‘It was complicated, Mr K. Look, I've got to go. Please call me when you hear something?'

‘Yes, yes,' he says, hanging up.

She stares at the phone for the longest time. Mr K blamed her. Of course he did: it was her fault. But she shouldn't have to tell him everything.

Her mum is up the other end of the house, working on the GST payments. She looks up and smiles. ‘Alright?'

‘Can we talk?' Lucy says, sitting on a chair. She isn't sure what to say but needs to say something. ‘I think it's my fault,' she blurts eventually, tears in her eyes.

‘Oh, Luce.' Her mum shakes her head. ‘It's not.'

‘It is, Mum — I pushed him into leaving.' She wipes at her tears with the back of her hand. ‘He's always been so nice to me. And I was so cold. He loves me so much and I …' She doesn't know what to say now, because she doesn't want to admit the truth to anyone.

‘He's such a nice boy,' her mum says.

‘A good son,'
Lucy corrects, and they both laugh at her imitation of Carl's dad.

‘He is, Lucy, and your dad and I have always been happy about you being with him. You know, it's hard …'

Her mum sounds wistful and Lucy knows this is one of those ‘watching your kids grow up speeches', but for once it doesn't bother her.

‘You want your kids to be happy. And there is so much bad stuff that can happen. Look at Emma —
she put us through the hoops. But she seems happy now. We just want you guys to have fun and be safe.'

Lucy nods. ‘He just seems so intense sometimes. Like this is it — me and him forever. And I'm not ready for that.'

‘It's okay,' her mum says. ‘When he can, Carl will handle it — whatever it is you want to do. But don't beat yourself up about it now. Let's just see what happens.'

‘Yeah,' she agrees.

‘You're a clever girl, Lucy, you'll know what to do.'

And then Lucy can't say anything else at all. Clever is the last thing she feels.

She rings her dad later that night. Her parents had split up when she was twelve. It had been so hard not having Dad in the house, but he and her mum had maintained a strong friendship.

‘We just didn't want to be together anymore,' her mum said when Lucy asked what went wrong. ‘There was no one else, for either of us, and even though we were still friends we didn't feel the same way. Sometimes I think we could have stayed together for the sake of you girls. Maybe it would have helped Emma. But you've always been so level-headed, so pragmatic. I don't think anything could throw you.'

Lucy, totally thrown, waits for her dad to pick up.

‘Hey, Rabbit,' he says, ‘you okay?'

‘Yeah, okay. Hey, Dad … what do you know about comas?'

She listens to her dad, a mental health nurse but with training in all fields of nursing, explain the possible outcomes. ‘A coma rarely lasts any longer than two to four weeks. The least amount of time a patient is unconscious lends itself to a better recovery.'

‘Okay, so if he comes out soon he'll be okay. Like, no brain damage?' She can't believe she's considering this.

‘Comas have so many variables, but the sooner he's out, the better his chances of returning to normal. Lucy, he'll be okay.'